


Only Fools Rush In

by alnima



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accident Prone Harry, Alcoholic beverages with ridiculous names, Alternate Universe, Bartender Harry, Brief scene with alcohol, Doctor Zayn, Harry gets stitches, Lightweight Zayn, M/M, Niall gets a concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/pseuds/alnima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry meets Zayn during a series of unfortunate events.  </p><p>Or the one where Zayn's a doctor and Harry glues on nipple tassels and needs help getting them off...among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

> I got this pinch hit assignment and I really liked two of the prompts and I decided to combine them and put my own twist on things, I hope that's okay. 
> 
> Take all medical information with a grain of salt, I researched in haste due to time restrictions, so I probably got some wrong, and some was wrong on purpose for dramatic fic effect. 
> 
> Thanks to [Jen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pornyziallfeels) for fixing this up. All remaining mistakes are my own, though, because sometimes I'm a mess and I ignore her suggestions.
> 
> Title is from 'Can't Help Falling In Love' by Elvis Presley. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know or own anyone. This work is my own and it is not featured on any other site, nor does anyone have my permission to repost it in its entirety. Thank you!!!

As it turns out, Harry has the worst luck. And his life, while it seemed amazing before, is actually really awful. It’s the only reason that he ends up meeting the most beautiful boy- no, person in the world during the most unfortunate of circumstances.

//\\\//\\\

Harry’s in the hospital, more specifically, he’s in the emergency waiting room with a jacket wrapped tightly around his body. He’s glancing around nervously, like people might be able to see through his clothing and figure out why he’s here, because physically, he looks fine. He doesn’t have a busted lip like the guy three chairs over, he didn’t break his leg like the girl that came in twenty minutes ago, and he didn’t faint like the older woman that slide out of her chair and caused nurses to run around in alarm.

Just by looking at him, it seems like he shouldn’t be here. He even told the nurses that it’s not a high priority situation; so don’t toss him in before someone that really needs a room. In hindsight, that was a dumb move on his part, because he’s been waiting for forty minutes, and each second that ticks by forces his leg to shake even more.

He hopes that he gets a doctor that doesn’t speak English. Then he won’t have to answer any questions.

Harry doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to say.

‘ _So, my friend is an idiot and I believed him when he said that superglue was the most efficient way to keep nipple tassels on._ ’

Running his fingers through his hair, Harry hopes that he can get through this as painlessly as possible, emotional pain, not physical pain. There was no way pulling a super-glued tassel off your nipple could ever be painless.

//\\\//\\\

Harry finally gets a room after waiting for an hour. It’s tucked in the far corner and Harry has the door closed and the curtain drawn, not wanting anyone to see him in here.

The nurse tries asking him questions but he just says that he needs a doctor, repeating it over and over again until she sighs, setting the papers down and leaving.

Ten minutes later, he hears the door open and he tightens his coat around his body, gripping it at the waist and the neck. And when he sees who is behind the curtain, he wants to faint like the older woman earlier, fall backwards right off the exam table and smack his head against the floor, it would give him an actual reason to be in the emergency room, because this doctor should be illegal with his large, hazel doe-eyes accompanied by defined cheekbones and a jaw that Harry’s pretty sure could cut diamonds, just slice them right into teeny tiny worthless little shards of glitter. His black hair and carefully sculpted stubble make Harry want to weep, because he tries so hard, but his hair has never looked so soft and fluffy and full of life nor has he ever been able to master the art of facial hair, not like this man, who probably just concentrates really hard and the hair grows magically for him.

He’s so pretty, so, so beautiful that it makes this entire situation worse because Harry has to tell him what’s happened, he’ll have to remove his coat, and show him what he’s done.

Any other time, Harry would jump at the first opportunity to allow Dr. Sexy the opportunity to see his nipples, maybe while he’s showing off his own, or with his tongue pressed against them, but not in this situation. Ideally, anything but this situation would work to Harry’s satisfaction.

(Preferably, though, one that involves their naked bodies pressed together.)

But it’s starting to hurt, the skin around his nipples beginning to feel tight and itchy.

This is probably, if he had to guess, the worst day of his life.

“Harry, right?” The doctor asks, taking a seat on the little stool next to the examination table.

“Huh?” Harry says, tilting his head to the side.

The doctor laughs, this beautiful sound that makes Harry wants to weep, because the doctor’s eyes are crinkled closed and his tongue is poking at his teeth. It’s so sad that Harry has to open his coat and show him what he did to his own body after witnessing his laugh.

“I asked what you were in for, and then I asked if your name was Harry.”

“Yes, I’m Harry,” he says, nodding his head. The doctor nods and pulls a pen out of his pocket, Harry’s eyes tracking the movement to see ‘Zayn Malik, MD’ embroidered across the top of the pocket in blue lettering.

“The nurse explained to me that you’re not willing to talk about why you’re here, but I’m afraid that you’re going to have to tell me or I’ll be forced to kick you outta here, which would be pretty awful if you’re in need of this room.”

“Right,” Harry says, licking his lips nervously. “I, um. Well. Do people come here for crazy stuff?”

Doctor Malik sighs, sets down his pen and Harry’s file. “How crazy are we talking?”

Harry takes a deep breath and slowly works off his jacket, carefully unzipping it and pulling it off his shoulders while Dr. Malik watches, his eyebrows furrowed together. He drapes his jacket across his lap, fighting the urge to fold it neatly and prolong the process all together.

He knows that the tassels are visible through his shirt, and he can feel the heat spreading from his cheeks and down his neck, which is awful, because Harry doesn’t get embarrassed. He just doesn’t. He prides himself on his amazing ability to shrug things off and laugh about them, but this. This is a new level of embarrassment watching the doctor’s face as he pulls his shirt off and stares down at his lap.

The doctor clears his throat and Harry looks up to see that he’s rubbing long fingers across his chin.

“They’re stuck,” Harry explains, rather dumbly, motioning towards the candy tassels covering his nipples. “I was going to put them on as a joke for a friend, but then another friend, a complete moron of a friend, said that I should try superglue since the adhesive wasn’t working.” He sighs, huffing out a breath because the blush has reached his thighs and there’s only so much humiliation that a man can take. “So we glued these on, but then our friend cancelled his plans with us and enough time had passed that the glue has fused to my skin. I think they’re stuck there forever. And it’s super glue, so it’s not like you can just…get it off.”

The doctor nods like he understands. “You glued candy nipple tassels onto your body, and you’re having difficulty removing them?”

“Yes,” Harry says, resisting the urge to flick around the dangly strings of candy handing from the center of his nipple. He wants something to do with his hands, but playing with the tassels isn’t what he should be doing, so he sits on his hands and waits for the doctor to tell him that his nipples have to be removed, because that’s the only way, probably, according to Niall.

“All right,” Dr. Malik says, patting his large hands on his slender thighs. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harry doesn’t get a chance to ask where he’s going, but he feels like he’s probably out in the hallway letting out a laugh. Harry would laugh, maybe, if it were anyone else. He’d laugh if it were Niall, definitely if it was Niall, or Liam, even, because he’d throw a fit and those are always funny to watch, but it’s not very funny when it’s happening to him.

The minutes tick by slowly, one and then two and then five and finally ten before the doctor gets back, carrying a bottle of nail polish remover.

“A surprising fact that most people don’t know – believe me, you’d be surprised how many people come in here for super gluing something to themselves – is that acetone works wonders on superglue,” he explains, stepping between Harry’s legs and dabbing a cotton swab in the bright pink liquid. “Unfortunately, the candy will be ruined, though.”

Harry swallows when the doctor winks at him and clenches his hands into fists under his thighs.

The liquid is cold as it’s rubbed around the circumference of the tassels, but it barely takes a minute before they’re easily removed.

Harry sighs at the feeling, his body relaxing almost instantly because it’s not as serious as Niall made it out to be.

(In Niall’s defense, he’d had a couple of beers at the time of the glue accident, so it’s not entirely his fault that he had assumed Harry would lose his two bigger nipples, the blond even joking this was why Harry had two sets.)

“Zayn- oh, sorry. Um, Dr. Malik, when you’re finished can you head over to emergency room seven, we could use the assistance,” a nurse says, maybe a nurse, it could be a doctor, Harry’s not sure because the curtain is drawn, saving Harry the humiliation of allowing another living being to watch as the second, and final, nipple tassel is taken off.

Zayn, Harry thinks, trying not to sigh, because it’s so fitting, just as beautiful as Dr. Sexy.

“Yeah, I’m all done here,” Zayn says, tossing the cotton swabs in the trash bin.

The nurse leaves and Zayn says, “You know, it’s too bad these were ruined.” He’s holding the nipple tassels in his hand. He looks at them for a moment before he takes a bite out of one of them, right on one of the dangly strings that Harry had tried to spin around in front of Niall.

The snap of the candy breaking sounds like a fired gun in the small room and Harry does his best not to let his mouth drop open, wishing that the tassels were still glued to his body so the doctor can redo this entire scene all over again.

“You’re all set to go,” Zayn says, tossing the tassels in the trash. “Next time, be a little more careful.” He winks at Harry one last time and then he’s gone.

//\\\//\\\

When Harry gets home, Niall is sitting on the couch with a plate full of burritos in his lap, licking his lips hungrily. He doesn’t look at Harry, barely acknowledges him as he whispers sweet nothings to the food.

Harry rolls his eyes because Niall’s reached the stage of drunk where he loves everything and everyone.

(One time, years ago, Niall tripped and fell flat on his back and proceeded to rub his fingers through their rug and talk about how beautiful it was, how nice it was to make their apartment so pretty.)

“Hey,” Niall shouts, smiling grandly when he sees Harry. “Do you still have nipples?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, flashing Niall quickly, poking each of them so Niall can see the proof.

“You mean they didn’t operate?” Niall questions, frowning slightly, like he’s disappointed with the whole situation, like he wanted Harry to get his nipples cut off.

Harry shakes his head. “No, but.” He pauses, biting his lip. He wants to tell Niall about the beautiful, lovely, wonderful, amazing, perfect doctor that he saw. He wants to describe the flecks of gold in his eye, and the little freckle next to his iris, and the freckle on the side of his nose. He wants to talk about his facial hair and how Harry imagines it would feel brushing against his thighs, if the feeling would change if Harry were on his back instead of his stomach. He wants to tell Niall everything, but he bites his tongue, because something about the man makes Harry want to keep it private and close to his heart, because he’ll never see him again, and he deserves this private memory.

“But what?” Niall asks, words jumbled together because of the burrito in his mouth.

“The doctor who took them off was the most beautiful human that I’ve ever seen. I don’t even think he was human.”

Apparently, Harry is shit about keeping secrets.

“I might even be in love,” Harry adds when Niall raises an eyebrow at him. “He was marvelous. If I could have babies, I’d want his.”

“Did they drug you?”

Harry sighs, because Niall didn’t see him. Niall wouldn’t understand. “Just keep eating your burrito.”

“Oh I will,” Niall says, raising his eyebrows and winking.

Harry sighs again, because Niall’s winks are shit compared to Dr. Malik’s.

Everything about the universe is shit now that Harry’s seen what perfection is.

//\\\//\\\

A few days later, Harry’s at work prepping for the evening; he works at Blackie’s, a bar a few blocks away from his apartment.

It’s an hour before they’re set to open, and Harry is in the kitchen cleaning glasses with his friend, and co-worker, Liam. Their boss Simon likes everything to be cleaned before they open and after they close, his own method to make sure that anything that was glossed over the night before is taken care of when people are less tired. It works, but sometimes things get a bit redundant.

“Anyway, the date started out well enough, she seemed nice, but towards the end she just started screaming at our waitress. It was pretty horrific,” Liam says.

Harry nods along, passing Liam the glass he’s just cleaned.

“How do you always manage to find the worst people to go out with?” Harry asks, remembering the older girl that Liam dated who went on an angry rant on her blog, or another one that had an obsession with her dog.

Liam sighs. “I have no idea, but it makes for interesting conversation topics, I guess.”

“It does,” Harry agrees.

“I’m going to go get the next crate,” Liam mumbles and Harry nods, wishing that he could be finished cleaning dishes or that his boss would take up a more modern approach to cleaning dishes, one that involved a dishwasher that wasn’t a human but a machine. Harry’s fingers are all pruney and the dishwasher would probably clean the dishes better, wouldn’t have to reach across the giant sink to put them on the drying rack under the heavy-duty fan.

One minute he's cleaning the glass and reaching over to set it on the rack, but he drops it, sending the glass to the bottom of the sink, causing it to shatter.

It happens so fast that Harry’s not entirely sure how he broke the glass and managed to slice open the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even realize that he cut himself until he lifts his hand up and sees the trail of red down his forearm, dripping into the sink.

“Shit,” Harry curses, because now that he’s noticed the wound, it hurts. Bad. “Shit.” He shoves he hand back under the water, hoping to clean it up enough to see how bad the wound is, but when he pulls his hand away, the bloods still there along with a gnarly looking cut.

“Oh, god, Harry,” Liam mutters, coming back into the kitchen to see Harry trying to wrap a dishcloth around his palm. He knows from basic first aid lessons when he was in school that putting pressure to the area is a good start. Along with keeping the wound above your heart, so Harry lifts his hand up and keeps it next to his shoulder, trying to stop from shaking.

“What did you do?” Liam shouts, snatching Harry’s hand. “Oh, god. This looks deep, Harry.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

“You have to get this checked out,” Liam says, still peeking under the dishcloth. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“I can’t,” Harry whines, pulling his hand away from Liam and placing it back on his shoulder so it’s above his heart. The bleeding hasn’t stopped, not like any of these methods are miracles, but it’d be nice.

“Go, I’ll tell Simon that you had to leave. It’ll be fine. He’ll probably forget that he even put you on the schedule,” Liam says, already shoving Harry towards the back door. “Just leave.”

Harry nods his head and runs towards his car, his arm held high in the air like a student in school with a question.

//\\\//\\\

As it turns out, it’s much easier to get into a room when you tell the nurses why you’re there, even if a bloody dishcloth covering your hand is in plain sight, because this time when Harry approaches the desk of the emergency room, he’s rushed back into a room and told that the doctor would be with him shortly and that he’d be given forms to fill out after the doctor sees him.

It’s not the same room that he was in before, but he feels a rush of excitement wash over his body when he realizes that he might be seeing Dr. Malik again, the stunning and fantastic doctor that helped remove his nipple tassels.

He wanted to ask the nurse that brought him back who the working doctor was for the night, but he didn’t want to come off as eager, like he cut his hand open just to get another hospital visit. Because he didn’t. Honestly. He’s been working hard to forget the horror of having candy nipple tassels removed from the world’s most beautiful doctor- person, actually.

Harry barely has time to glance around the room before he hears the door open, and glancing up, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of Dr. Malik, he’s carrying in some kind of kit and needles that make Harry’s stomach queasy.

“Are we going to have to put you on our list of regulars?” Dr. Malik asks, setting the kit down on the table next to the exam table and sliding it closer.

Harry laughs, this choked out noise that gets caught in his throat because he can’t believe that the doctor remembered him. He remembered Harry, and he bites back the thought that it’s only because he had horrible nipple tassels stuck to his body, because he’d really like to believe it’s because this doctor thinks he’s lovely and wonderful, all the positive adjectives that Harry thinks about him.

“No, you won’t. I promise.”

“Good,” Zayn says, washing his hands at the sink in the corner of the room. “Can you tell me your name and birth date?”

“Harry Styles and the first of February.”

“Excellent. Now, I’m going to inject you with lidocaine, it’s a numbing agent that’ll completely numb your hand so you can’t feel it when I stitch you up. It’ll take a couple minutes to kick in, during that time I’ll get the wound as cleaned up as I can,” Dr. Malik explains, getting everything ready.

Harry doesn’t watch his hands, doesn’t want to see the tools that are going to be used, so instead he watches the doctor’s face, the overly animated movements of his mouth and pretty pink lips, and the way one of his eyes kind of squints when he places emphasis on certain parts of his sentence.

It’s mesmerizing.

But not enough that Harry forgets he’s about to be injected with needles.

“Um,” he says, tucking his arm safely against his chest. “Is there a way we can do this where I don’t have to watch?”

Zayn smirks at him and nods. “Yeah, lie on your back,” he instructs, gently nudging at Harry’s shoulder, easing him down on the table. Harry tries to keep his mind from wandering, forcing himself not to imagine that this is a bed and they’re doing something much more intimate than sewing him back together. “Your hand will be on this side the entire time, so if you turn your head to the side, you won’t see a thing, okay?”

No, Harry thinks, because he won’t be able to look at Zayn. He won’t be able to see the look of concentration on his face as he works on fixing Harry. But he says, “Okay,” as he turns his head to the side, staring at the white walls.

He feels something wet rubbing against his palm and then feels as his body goes tense, nerves on fire.

“So, Harry, what do you do for a living?” Dr. Malik asks, his grip firm on Harry’s wrist.

“I’m a bartender.”

“Yeah? How’d you get into that?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, refraining from shrugging his shoulders. “It started out as just one of those jobs that you take when you need money, but I actually really like it. I get to meet new people every night, get to have conversations while I’m making money. I like talking to people.”

“Yeah, you wear any tassels on this job?” Dr. Malik asks and Harry glances over to see him smiling, the same tongue behind his teeth smile that makes Harry’s stomach flip.

“Nope, but I would, probably, if someone asked.”

“Hmm,” Zayn hums. “All right, I just gave you the numbing agent, so now I can clean the wound fully. We don’t want it to get infected.”

“You what?” Harry says, shifting over and lifting his hand in the air. “I didn’t feel that at all.” He stares at his hand in amazement, stares at Zayn in amazement, because only a celestial being could do something so magical.

“It’s amazing what conversation can do,” Dr. Malik says, grinning. “Now, let’s get this taken care of, all right?”

True to his word, Harry stops feeling in the middle of getting his wound clean, and despite a brief moment of discomfort, there’s absolutely no pain as Zayn works to stitch him up.

They talk throughout the entire thing and Harry learns that Zayn has a degree in emergency medicine and that he works the night shift, preferring to use his days for sleeping and hanging out with his dog, Harley. Harry refrains from asking if he has a girlfriend or boyfriend, refrains from asking if Harry could join him for his daytime naps.

When he’s finished, Dr. Malik winks at him, again, and says that he hopes this doesn’t become a habit. Harry sighs, and barely listens when a nurse comes in and tells him about the appropriate care of the stitches and helps him fill out his forms.

//\\\//\\\

“Oh shit, you’re back,” Niall says when Harry enters their apartment, rushing towards the door and grabbing Harry’s hand. “Damn that’s cool, how many stitches?”

“I think he said fourteen, something like that. I don’t know,” Harry says, shrugging.

“Fourteen? That seems like a lot.”

“Well, he said that it’s on my hand and… I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Niall rolls his eyes and pinches Harry’s side. “You’re shit. You’re supposed to listen.”

“I listened,” Harry protests, pouting. “They gave me the kind that can get wet, and apparently they dissolve! Isn’t that cool?” He nods his head, knowing that Niall can’t argue with the facts.

“You don’t have to go and get them removed?”

“No, but it’ll take a while for them to dissolve,” Harry explains, admiring Zayn’s work. He tries not to feel a little disappointed that he won’t be able to see Zayn again when they’re removed.

“Hmm, well, I’m glad you’re all right. Liam called and told me what happened, tried texting you but you never answered.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, biting his lip. “Sorry. I left my phone in the car.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Niall says, rolling his eyes once more before he goes back to wherever he came from, or tries to. Harry’s hot on his heels, ready to talk about Zayn again. Niall was drunk last time, so he probably doesn’t remember the conversation, but Harry’s going to tell him anyway.

“I saw the pretty doctor again,” Harry says, grinning when Niall turns to look at him.

“The one whose babies you want to have?” Niall inquires after a moment of silence.

And okay, maybe Niall is better at remembering things than Harry gives him credit for.

“Yeah, he was just as dreamy as I remember.”

Niall snorts. “Mate, you’ve got to figure out your life.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, stomping his foot. “You haven’t seen him. Where’s my laptop? I’m going to google him and see if I can find his picture. That’ll shut you up, just wait.”

And maybe. Maybe Harry isn’t googling Zayn Malik, MD just because Niall doesn’t believe that Zayn’s to die for. Maybe he’s googling Zayn because he wants to stare at his picture until he passes out from exhaustion on his own couch.

He’s not embarrassed to admit he’s doing this, it’s all for science, really.

//\\\//\\\

Liam comes to check on him the following day, concerned and wanting to make sure that Harry didn’t hurt his hand worse than he imagined.

“Honestly, Niall, you should have seen it yesterday,” Liam says, letting go of Harry’s hand and turning to face Niall, grabbing the bag of trail mix that Niall’s abandoned. “It didn’t look like a crime scene but it kind of did.”

“Looks like a cat scratch now, though, doesn’t it?” Niall says, motioning towards Harry’s hand.

“A cat scratch doesn’t hurt this badly,” Harry corrects. “And anyway, it really wasn’t that bad, just a little deep, I guess.”

“Yeah, I mean, plus it gave you a chance to see _Zayn_ again, didn’t it?” Liam says, drawing out Zayn’s name and batting his eyelashes at Harry.

Harry is going to kill Niall. “I told you about him in the strictest of confidence,” he says, stomping his foot and poking Niall in the shoulder. “Why would you tell him?”

“Ow,” Niall says, swatting at Harry’s hand before he starts rubbing his arm. “He asked how things went at the hospital and I told him you’re in love. How was I supposed to know that it’s a secret love?”

“Maybe because I don’t know him.” Harry bites back the word yet, because there’s no guarantee that he’s ever going to see Zayn again and there’s no guarantee that they’re ever going to become more than just patient and doctor – which, if Harry’s being honest, sounds like a terrific role-play that he’d like to practice with, just to test Zayn’s bedside manner, or…something.

“You know, I’ve got a friend that works at the hospital, he’s a nurse, I’ll call him later and see if he knows a Dr. Malik.”

Harry flounders, tripping over his own feet as he rushes to Liam’s side, eyes wide. “Liam, I could have lost my hand. Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not. I can’t remember which department he’s in. Or well, are they considered departments in hospitals? Or is that just department stores?” Harry pinches his nipple. “Ow, I’m just saying. Anyway, I know he wants to work in the maternity ward, but he said that’s like end goal, so I’m not sure where he’s at now,” Liam clarifies and Harry deflates.

“Zayn works in emergency, they don’t deliver babies there.”

“I’m sure they have,” Niall pipes in, shrugging his shoulders when Harry turns to look at him. “What? People go into labor in their cars all the time; they might not have time to get much further than emergency.”

“All right, so let’s pretend your friend is the emergency maternity nurse person, if he knows Zayn, what do we do?”

“We stage a meeting. We tell Liam’s friend to bring the doctor, then we put you in a threatening situation and voila, the rest works itself out, honestly,” Niall provides not so helpfully. But he’s trying, which is more than Liam is doing by picking through the bag of trail mix in his hands.

//\\\//\\\

Later in the evening, just a few short hours when Liam and Niall are still mocking Harry for his crush on the emergency doctor, something that he can only laugh about to a certain degree, because yeah, it’s funny that Harry is not really in love with a doctor, but kind of in love with a doctor. But Niall and Liam haven’t actually seen Dr. Malik, so they wouldn’t understand, which, ironically enough, is a thought he wishes he never had, because as it turns out, they’d be meeting him sooner than they think.

It goes like this, Niall and Liam are in the living room watching some sort of television program, what exactly Harry’s not sure, because he’s in the kitchen working on making them dinner.

He’s humming to himself quietly, adding the milk to the bowl that he’s using to make homemade biscuits. His back is turned, so he doesn’t see that the current bowl in the sink being filled with water is covering the drain and that the water has filled the bowl and the sink and is slowly draining out of it until he goes to set the measuring cup in the sink.

Harry curses, muttering out a quiet ‘fuck’ as he shuts off the water and then goes to grab a dishcloth, with his back turned, it’s easy clean, just a small puddle on the floor that has left his socks sopping wet.

He can hear someone running into the kitchen, and just as the words ‘be careful’ leave his mouth, there’s a loud thud echoing throughout the room and he turns to find Niall on his back.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Niall,” Harry says, moving quickly to try and help his friend up. It takes far too long for Harry’s liking for Niall’s eyes to snap open.

“What the fuck,” Niall groans out, sitting up slowly, still rubbing at the back of his head as he assesses the situation. “What the fuck.”

“I’m so sorry, Niall. I tried to warn you,” Harry says, biting his lip and helping Niall stand, gripping his wrist and pulling him up carefully, Niall feels limp and useless, not trying to help very much.

“What happened?” comes Liam’s voice.

“No, put me back down, I feel dizzy,” Niall says, pulling away from Harry and leaning against the cabinets.

“I didn’t realize the sink was overflowing, fuck,” Harry mutters, trying his hardest to wipe up the water on the floor. “Niall, are you all right?”

Niall’s eyes shift, blinking open wide and then closing, like he’s trying to focus. It takes him a few seconds too long to say: “I fell?”

Harry and Liam exchange looks.

“Niall, how badly does your head hurt right now, like on a scale of one to ten?” Liam asks.

“I don’t know,” Niall mumbles, his eyes close as he tries to take steady breaths. “I think, maybe, a five or something.”

“What happened?” Liam questions, turning to look at Harry. His expression is serious and Harry hates this side of Liam, this fiercely wild look about him that always makes him want to shy away. It’s not normally a look directed towards him, usually towards other people that have done something to harm one of the people that Liam loves, but it’s never directed at Harry, which makes it twice as terrifying.

“I don’t know, my back was turned, but he fell and then when I turned around, I think he was out for a couple seconds.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, um. Long enough, I guess,” Harry says, shrugging.

“Fuck,” Liam groans, rubbing at his face for a moment before he sighs and nods, standing up slowly. “We’re going to have to take him to a hospital; it’s not good to be unconscious after hitting your head.”

“For a fall?” Harry asks, standing up and helping Liam get Niall off the floor.

“He hit his head, Harry, that could be serious, and even if it’s not, we’re going,” Liam says, shifting his arm to accommodate for Niall’s weight. “Put on your shoes and meet me at my car.”

Harry nods, biting his lip and feeling awful.

//\\\//\\\

At the emergency room, Harry tries to act as inconspicuous as possible, because, really, how many times can one person come to the hospital in a week?

Apparently three times.

They’re led to a room right away, because as it stands, you’re only forced to wait an hour when you have candy nipple tassels glued to your body.

(Harry refuses to admit that it might be the fact that he refused to discuss why he needed to see a doctor until he saw a doctor, forcing the staff to not really take him seriously.)

And again, much to Harry’s horror, it’s Dr. Malik that comes waltzing into the room a couple minutes after a nurse has asked Niall a million different questions and checked his vitals.

“All right, so it says here that you’re worried about a possible concussion, is that correct?” Zayn asks, reading the file before he tosses it down on the table. When he glances up, he looks surprised for a moment when he sees Harry. “I thought I said not to make this a regular thing.” He’s smiling and Harry’s stomach twists.

“I’m fine,” Harry squeaks out, his voice high. He clears his throat and adds: “I mean, besides the fact that I’ve got thread holding my hand together, I’m all right. It’s my friend, actually.” He points to Niall and Dr. Malik smiles and nods.

“Can you tell me your name?” He asks, stepping closer to Niall.

“Niall.”

“Last name too, please.”

“Horan.”

“Good, do you know your date of birth?”

“13th of September.”

“Excellent, now where do you live?”

“With this idiot,” Niall mumbles, pointing at Harry. “It’s all his fault that I’m here.”

Zayn turns to look at Harry, smiling. “Well, your memory seems fine.” He pulls what looks like a pen out of his pocket, but it turns out to be a tiny light that he makes Niall track the motion of, and nods in satisfaction when Niall does it with ease.

He performs a few more tests and asks Niall a hundred new questions, each one annoying the blond more and more.

Harry spends the time watching Zayn closely, studying the way that his hands work when he’s performing the tests. Studying the way that his mouth moves and his face shifts around, eyes squinting and creating new lines in his skin. And for some reason, unknown to him (not really), his mind takes off in a direction that involves picturing Zayn pressing him up against the wall, maybe lifting him up and fucking him into the drywall.

It would be beautiful and it would fulfill every doctor-patient fantasy role-play that Harry has had since he first came into the hospital.

He’s so lost in his daydream that he’s no longer paying attention to anything that Niall, Liam, or even Zayn is saying, just thinking about what it would feel like to have Zayn’s lips against his, if they would be as soft as they look or if they’d drag, the texture rough from being chapped. He licks his lips more than any person Harry’s ever encountered, so he knows that they’re going to be slick and smooth, and Harry can just imagine it all from the way that Zayn’s talking.

Unfortunately, worse than unfortunately, actually, Harry’s mind seems to forget where to draw the line between imagination and reality, because before he knows it, he can feel the smooth velvety texture of Zayn’s lips against his, the slow hesitation before they press back, lightly and hesitantly. And when a warm weight presses against his waist, gently pushing him away, Harry realizes that somewhere between imagining kissing Zayn and wishing he could kiss Zayn, he actually did it.

He pulls away quickly, slapping a hand over his mouth and glances around the room quickly. Liam’s staring at him wide eyes and an even wider mouth; Niall is trying to hide his laughter behind his hand, and Zayn, well, he’s worst of all, because he flicks his tongue on his lips quickly, his thumb slowly brushing across his bottom lip.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry mutters before he flees, because that, despite how much he would have liked for it to happen, was not supposed to happen. At least not under those circumstances and Harry’s more embarrassed than he was with two nipple tassels semi-permanently attached to his body.

He doesn’t wait for Niall and Liam; instead he just takes off, walking away from the hospital and trying to fight down the hot heat of humiliation swirling throughout his body.

//\\\//\\\

When Harry gets home, Niall’s lying on the couch watching a movie in the dark, and he looks half asleep, his eyelids heavy, but that doesn’t stop Harry from talking to him, wanting to know what happened and wanting to question him about Zayn.

He had a lot of time to think about it on his walk home, a lot of time to wallow in his embarrassment and misery that he was foolish enough to kiss the doctor.

It was all playing out in his head, like a fantasy or daydream, something harmless that everyone does in their free time. The mind does this all the time, but of course, naturally, he wasn’t satisfied with just daydreaming, he had to act on it.

The entire thing is horrific and Harry’s not sure how he’ll ever get over it.

“What’d the doctor end up saying about your concussion?” Harry asks, leaning over the back of the couch and carding his fingers through Niall’s hair.

“He just said that it’s pretty mild, so I should be all right. I just have to go back in if anything weird happens, but he doesn’t think it will.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, still hurts like fuck, though,” Niall mutters, the words nearly swallowed by a yawn. “Just a headache, though, so it’ll be gone by morning.”

“Glad to hear that I didn’t break you.”

Niall grins. “It’ll take more than a puddle of water. You’ll have to try harder next time.”

Harry barks out a laugh, stuffing his face into the back of the cushion to stop the shrieking noise from escaping his mouth. “I can’t believe you caught onto my plan. I thought it would be the perfect accident.”

“You just wanted to see that pretty doctor,” Niall says, biting back a smile. “Or should I say, you just wanted to kiss that pretty doctor.”

“Oh, god,” Harry groans, glad that the lights are off so that Niall can’t see the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“I know. I know,” Harry mutters, his eyes closed. “I was just thinking about it, wondering what it would be like, and then… it was happening!”

“God, you’re freaking weird,” Niall replies. “But, at least he didn’t throw you out.”

Harry nods and bites his lip, opening his eyes to look down at Niall curiously. “Did he say anything about it or, um, about me? You know, like, after I left?”

Niall shakes his head. “Nope, didn’t even blink an eye. Well, he just kind of stood there for a moment before he jumped right back into talking about my head.”

Well, Harry thinks. He doesn’t want to think that Zayn’s rude, but the least he could have done was call Harry crazy, or something. Anything, really.

//\\\//\\\

Harry makes it through the week without any more accidents, which isn’t that much of an accomplishment since he always makes it through the week without an accident, except for the last week, which is why it feels like a major achievement.

There was a narrowly missed accident two days ago, but luckily enough, he was able to jump out of the way of the bicycle before it collided with his right side.

Even at work Harry has been lucky, his boss Simon telling him that he doesn’t have to do dish duty until his stitches heal (Harry might have lied that getting them wet for too long was bad, but that’s beside the point.) Instead, he gets to bother Liam while he cleans dishes and when Liam complains, he juts his bottom lip out prettily and reminds Liam that he nearly lost his hand, but he definitely lost the potential love of his life. It always ends with Liam sighing and muttering under his breath while Harry grins at him, sucking another cherry off the stem from the bar’s stash.

As it turns out, though, he definitely hasn’t lost the potential love of his life, because in the middle of Harry’s shift while he’s working the bar upstairs, the one reserved for certain people, usually a smaller crowd than the one downstairs, Harry sees Zayn again.

He’s sitting at the end of the bar, his eyes scanning over the list of drinks that they have. Harry tries to focus on not dumping all of the tequila out on the counter, but it’s really difficult watching as Zayn’s brow furrows in concentration.

Harry takes the money from his current patron and then strolls to the other side of the bar, he tries to make it look as casual as possible and not like he’s scared out of his mind for this endeavor. He hopes Zayn orders a fancy drink so he can do an amazing trick, like the one Zayn pulled when he made Harry not notice that he got a numbing agent in his hand. Two people can be magical and amazing, it’s not just Zayn. Harry can be simply wonderful and mesmerizing, if he really wanted to.

“Can I help you?” Harry asks, clearing his throat immediately after because his voice has gone all high.

Zayn looks up in surprise and a smile breaks out on his face. “Well, it looks like the tables have turned. Funny I’d show up at your work.”

“Yeah, what are the chances?”

“Slim,” Zayn answers, still grinning at Harry like he’s actually excited to see him and something in Harry’s stomach churns at the thought. “And as for the drink, what about this Flaming Volcano? It sounds ominous and interesting. I think I’d like one of those.”

“Excellent choice,” Harry comments, moving around to grab what he needs to make it. “So, Dr. Malik-“

“Zayn, please. I’m only a doctor in the hospital.”

“Zayn, what brings you out tonight?”

“Well, my friend Louis wanted to stop by and visit. He said he had a friend that kept ringing him to come by and was driving him mad, so he kind of dragged me along as well, but can’t seem to find him anymore, if I’m honest. I kind of wandered up here since it’s less crowded.”

Harry nods and bites his tongue from mentioning that the people up here are all on a special list, one that he knows Zayn is not apart of. It could get the bouncer in trouble if Simon were to find out, but Zayn looks important, Harry can’t blame the bouncer for not doing his job correctly and just letting Zayn in. He probably was too busy staring, it’s quite understandable when it comes to someone as pretty as Zayn is.

“All right, here is your drink. Still think it’s ominous and interesting?”

“Oh,” Zayn says, looking at the drink. “I, um. I didn’t expect there to be an actual flame in the drink.” He waves his hand in the direction of the light blue flame in the middle of the cherry red liquid, the color enhanced by the red of the glass.

“Yeah, kind of where the flaming in ‘Flaming Volcano’ comes from.”

“Right, of course,” Zayn mutters, nodding. “Do you, like, wait for the flame to go before you can drink? Is there a sign that it’s ready, or do you just drink around the flame?”

“Drink with the flame,” Harry explains, biting back a smile when Zayn’s frown deepens. “I could make you something else, if this isn’t what you want.”

“No, no,” Zayn says, shaking his head and sitting up a little straighter. “No. I can, um. This looks great.” He swallows thickly before wrapping his plump lips around the straw.

Harry watches as he struggles for a moment, like he’s mentally pumping himself up for this and when he finally starts drinking, Harry sees it. His face immediately pulls together tightly, wrinkling up in a sour expression. He pulls away from it with a gasp, covering his mouth quickly. Harry thinks that he can hear him gagging, but the thought is lost when Zayn grins at him, going back for another sip.

When Zayn finishes it, he smiles, grinning at Harry, the tense line of his shoulders a little looser. “Yummy.”

“Yeah? You liked it? Even though you had to drink around a flame?” Harry asks, biting back the bit where he mentions the looks that Zayn made while drinking.

Zayn nods. “Yeah, it tasted like oranges. It was nice.”

“Happy to hear it. You want another?” Harry prompts, trying to keep his expression at ease, because he’s willing to beg Zayn to stay for another drink, anything to keep him sat at the bar so they can talk. He’s so lovely; Harry would hate it if he found somewhere else to be.

“No, no.” Harry frowns and Zayn must notice it because when he speaks again, his voice is a little higher and he’s waving his hand a bit. “No, I mean that I’d like to try something else. Um, let’s see,” Zayn says, eyes moving swiftly as he reads. “Ah, okay what about this Salty Dog. It sounds interesting.”

Harry grins. “You have a type, hmm?”

“A type?”

“Yeah, you’re a fruity drink guy.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, nodding. “I guess.”

“All right, well let’s see if you can guess what tastes like,” Harry says, sliding the slender glass across the counter. He watches with bated breath as Zayn makes a show of drinking it, making the same sour face when he tastes it.

Zayn’s still has a look on his face, a quick shake of his head like a child when they’ve first tasted a lemon. “It’s not as refreshing as the first, but it’s nice.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Oh, it’s…hmm. Raspberry?” Zayn guess and Harry shakes his head. “Lime?” He flicks at the lime on the rim when he says it, looking hopeful, wanting to have guessed the right thing.

“Grapefruit,” Harry corrects, biting back a giggle when Zayn mumbles that he knew that.

//\\\//\\\

It seems that Zayn has a penchant for ordering drinks with outrageous names that come in hazardous colors. He’s gone through three more, ‘Bend Over Shirley’, ‘Sex On The Beach’ and another that he laughed at for the entirety of Harry making it, ‘Angel’s Tit.’

Now, it very well could have been because of the name, it’s a pretty absurd drink name, and to tell people that you’re drinking an angel’s tit is…well, that’s another thing entirely, but Harry’s pretty certain that Zayn’s well past a buzz with the alcohol that he’s mixing, and he should advise him not to, but for some reason, he can't.

Currently, Harry’s wrapping up his shift, counting his tips while Zayn begs him for another drink, the Bananarita because he thinks its fun to say and that means it’ll be fun to drink.

“No, sorry. I think it’s time we cut you off, seems like you’ve had one drink too many.”

Zayn pouts, folding his arms over his chest and sticking out his bottom lip. “Harry, I’m very thirsty and I’d like a drink.”

“I’ll get you some water, babe,” Harry says, grabbing a class and filling it up. “It’ll be just as refreshing, promise.”

“I’m not drinking it unless you put banana in it,” Zayn huffs, turning his nose up at the glass of water.

Harry makes a show of bringing the glass back down behind the counter, moving around and acting like he’s dumping the water out and adding a brand new concoction. It seems to appease Zayn, who slowly unfolds his arms and greedily takes the drink from Harry.

“It’s a bit bland,” Zayn says, frowning at the glass. “The name is very misleading, don’t you think?”

“Funny,” Harry mutters. “You’re not the first person to make that claim.”

“You should fix it. You’re the very best bartender in all the land and I’d like to report you for it, for serving me drinks and being cute and doing a spectacular job at it. You’re dazzling,”Zayn says, wide-eyed as he takes another sip from his straw.

Harry shakes his head and laughs, trying to ignore the fact that Zayn called him cute. He’s drunk, after all, doesn’t really know what he’s saying.

While Zayn drinks his water, Harry exits from behind the bar to join him on one of the stools. “You should probably call your friend; see if he’s fit to drive you home?”

Zayn nods, a very serious look on his face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, passing it to Harry. “His name is under Louis.”

“Ah, thank you. I would have been lost.”

Harry taps one of the buttons and nothing happens. He continues trying to press as many buttons as he can, none of them work, he’d say much to his annoyance, but it’s not an annoyance to know that he’s going to be responsible for Zayn for the time being. “Your phone’s dead,” Harry states, handing it back to Zayn who gasps.

“I’ve just charged it yesterday morning. I can’t believe this,” he says, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “Harry, I’m so sorry. This is out an outrage.” He shouts the last word, waving his arm around, drawing the attention of people near by.

“All right, let’s take you home,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around Zayn’s waist and guiding him out of the bar. “Hate for you to cause a scene.”

//\\\//\\\

As it turns out, Zayn can’t seem to remember his address and he just so happens to have forgotten his ID entirely. Harry has no clue how he got into the bar, he looks well over drinking age, but the bouncers are required to check ID’s if they look below forty, which is something they obviously didn’t do for Zayn.

Harry rubs his temples when he finds out, because this is not the way that he wanted to have Zayn spend the night at his place.

They were supposed to have just gotten back from some lovely date and Zayn was supposed to guide him back to his bedroom and fuck him into the mattress, he wasn’t supposed to be drunk. Harry wasn’t supposed to do the guiding. They weren’t supposed to go to bed without orgasms first.

It’s all very disappointing.

As they walk, Harry’s arm around Zayn’s waist, Zayn’s around his shoulder, fingers playing with his curls, Zayn says, “You know, I don’t even drink.”

Harry rolls his eyes, because no shit. “Yeah? Could have fooled me,” he mutters, grip tightening on Zayn’s hip.

“No, no. I’m being serious. I never drink; it’s not really my thing. Bit of a light weight,” Zayn hiccups, tugging gently at Harry’s hair.

“Yeah, so why’d you come out tonight?”

“Oh gosh,” Zayn sings, biting back a grin. “I can’t tell you, it’s a secret.”

“I bet you’re full of secrets.”

“No, just the one where Niall told me that you worked at the bar so I brought my friend Louis with me so that we could see you, but I’m not going to tell you that, because it’s a secret.” Zayn’s smiling, this mischievous glint to his eyes, they’re practically sparkling in the dim light of the night.

Harry hums, his nerves vibrating a little bit at Zayn’s drunken confession. He’s not really sure how to process the information, how he’s supposed to feel knowing that Zayn had actively sought him out. Zayn was supposed to think that Harry was out of his mind after he kissed him in the hospital.

He has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing now that he’s not the only one that’s been harboring a crush. Zayn’s ruined everything and made everything perfect all at once, it’s all too confusing for the middle of the night when he’s got a beautiful drunk under his arm.

Zayn sighs, undisturbed by Harry’s silence. “I don’t like to drink but they were all so pretty, oranges and reds and yellows. It was like drinking the sunset, but now my head is spinning. I think they were toxic.”

“No, babe. I think you’re just feeling the effects of combining gin, vodka, rum, and everything else you’ve got in you. You’ll definitely feel it in the morning.”

“No, I think you poisoned them, but that’s okay. I only drank them for you. Are you going to take care of me?” Zayn sings, wrapping his other arm around Harry’s front so he’s hugging him.

“So it seems,” Harry says, turning onto his street. “You fancy sleeping in my bed or on the couch?”

“Wherever you are, silly,” Zayn answers, bopping Harry on the nose. He grins when Harry looks at him, batting his ridiculously long eyelashes at him.

//\\\//\\\

They’re lying in bed, Harry on one side and Zayn on the other with the lights off. It’s dark and silent, and Harry’s just about ready to fall asleep when he hears Zayn talking.

“Oh, Harry. I wish we weren’t drunk,” Zayn is saying and Harry rolls his eyes, because he’s not at all, maybe sleepy, and a little endeared, but not drunk. “If we weren’t drunk then I’d probably be cuddling the shit out of you right now.” He yawns, breaking up his words.

“You would, huh?” Harry says, biting his lip, because it’s not the first time since they’ve been in his apartment that Zayn’s said something like this, something that alludes to him having some kind of feelings for Harry.

When Harry was getting him some clothes to sleep in, Zayn had been rambling about how kind and generous Harry was, how it made Zayn want to wrap him in a blanket and pet his hair for a couple hours. Before that, when they were stumbling in through his apartment door, Zayn had declared that his apartment was beautiful, saying it was Harry but a building. He’d rubbed the walls and called it apartment Harry as Harry dragged him into his bedroom, hoping that Zayn’s voice wouldn’t wake Niall.

“But you’re drunk, Harry. You have to not take advantage of people, so we can’t cuddle tonight,” Zayn says, disappointed and sad. He sighs and Harry feels the bed dip when he rolls over, just a little bit closer. And his heart almost beats out of his throat when he feels Zayn’s lips on his cheek, soft and a little bit wet. He pats Harry on the head once then lies back down, mumbling. “Oh, Harry.”

And the only thing Harry can think is holy shit holy shit holy shit.

//\\\//\\\//\\\

When Harry wakes up the following morning, Zayn’s not in his bed, and he definitely wants to wallow in his own misery, but the smell of something burning is wafting through his apartment and he groans, because he’s told Niall to stop trying to make omelets after the last time.

He kicks off the blankets and drags himself to the kitchen, ready to make fun of Niall or yell at him, maybe a combination of the two, because really, there’s only so many times that someone can burn one breakfast dish before they realize that they shouldn’t be making it.

Harry rounds the corner and is already blurting out, “what the fuck did you—Oh.” He pauses, eyes going wide when he sees Zayn standing at the sink, trying his hardest to scrub burnt remnants of food out of a pan. “Um, I thought you were someone else, sorry.”

Zayn’s cheeks are stained red as he looks at Harry, dropping the sponge in his hand and shutting off the water. “Yeah, sorry. I tried to cook something,” he says, shrugging. “Tried being the key word.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Harry mumbles, scratching at his wrist awkwardly. He’s hyper aware of the fact that’s still wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and that Zayn’s wearing a pair of his sweatpants. Zayn had to have rummaged through his drawers to find them; he wonders what else he went through while Harry was sleeping.

“I think I did, actually.”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head, because he only brought Zayn home because he had no where else to take him. Zayn didn’t need to make breakfast. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“No, no. I really did.” Harry’s ready to argue it but Zayn holds up his hand, stopping him. “I threw up in your trash can. The one in your bedroom, so yeah, that’s gone. I threw that out. Then I threw up in your toilet.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, he entire apartment smelt like vomit for a while, until I burnt the food.”

Harry rubs a hand across his face, trying to figure out what exactly is going on in his apartment right now. “You threw up and then you made breakfast.”

“Tried to make breakfast.”

“All right,” Harry says, clapping his hands together. “Get dressed; I’m going to take you somewhere to get food.”

“No,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “I couldn’t. You’ve done far too much; I was such a burden last night.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, honestly,” Harry explains, motioning towards the pan in the sink. It would save his kitchen, for one thing, but it would also mean that Harry gets to spend more time with Zayn. It’s win-win for everyone really, mostly for Harry though.

Zayn shakes his head and laughs. “How would I be doing you a favor?”

“Well,” Harry says, swallowing and trying to muster up every once of courage that he has. “Maybe we could make it a date.”

//\\\//\\\

Harry takes him to the diner across the street from his apartment, it’s always quiet and the staff is friendly, plus he doesn't want to go far when both he and Zayn are wearing matching sweatpants and white tees, not his usual look for a date, so he thinks a casual setting is in order. Plus, they have the best hangover food. Harry and Niall are reminded of that at least a dozen times a month.

“I feel like I should apologize for last night,” Zayn says after their food is set down on the table. He’s looking down at his food, sighing quietly. “I don’t usually drink.”

Harry smiles and nods. “Yeah, I think you called yourself a lightweight.”

“Yeah, but like. There’s more than that, yeah?”

“More?” Harry says, spinning his straw around in his orange juice. He’s fishing for information, he knows it, because Zayn told him exactly what happened last night, but Harry wants to find out if that was just drunken Zayn talking shit or if he was telling the truth.

Zayn nods, biting his lip as he rubs his palms against his pants. “Your last visit to the hospital when you, um. Niall’s visit with his concussion, by the way, is he doing all right?”

“He’s fine. My last visit what?” Harry presses, fingers drumming impatiently on the table.

“Right, um. After you uh, well, I’m sure you remember,” Zayn says, motioning vaguely towards his mouth before dropping his hands. Harry stills for a moment, his dream of Zayn forgetting the kiss long gone.

He really has the worst luck.

“Anyway, Niall told me where you worked. I wanted to talk to you, you see. Like, you kind of ran off, so Niall gave me the address of the bar.” Harry grins, a sudden rush of happiness flooding through his body at Zayn’s no-longer-drunk confession. “Why are you smiling?” Zayn asks. “Shouldn’t you like, I don’t know. I just told you that I sought you out.”

“I know,” Harry says, biting back a smile. “You told me last night when we were walking back to my place.

It’s Zayn’s turn to still. The other boy going completely rigid for a moment, his mouth hung open slightly before he nods, swallowing visibly.

“Well, this is sufficiently awkward.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, we passed awkward when I glued nipple tassels on.”

“Candy nipple tassels,” Zayn corrects, grinning.

Harry nods, his smile slowly fading. It’s nice, actually, knowing that his crush isn’t entirely one sided and that he might be able to get to know Zayn, really get to know him and maybe establish something outside of an emergency room or a bar where both of them embarrassed themselves royally.

“Can I try something?” Zayn asks, looking at him with one of his eyes squinted a bit more than the other, like he’s thinking a little too hard while talking.

Harry nods, biting his lip in anticipation. “Yeah.”

It takes him a second for Zayn to do anything; he licks his lips and flicks his gaze from Harry’s eyes to his mouth before he nods. Harry hardly has a moment to process what’s happening as Zayn leans over to his side of the table and kisses him, soft pecks from his dry lips to Harry’s until he’s licking into his mouth.

He tastes like Harry’s mouthwash and Harry wants to grip onto him and press him into the wall and kiss like all the fantasies he’s had about this.

Zayn’s hand is at the base of his neck and it’s a bit much for a diner, but Harry doesn’t have an ounce of care to give when Zayn’s doing this thing with his tongue that makes his stomach twist and drop down to his feet.

All too soon, Zayn pulls away and smiles at him, stroking his thumb along Harry’s cheek for a second before he turns back to his meal, grabbing his fork so he can start eating.

Harry watches him and spares a fleeting thought to the candy nipples tassels that he glued on when he first met Zayn, the box came with four, so maybe if he’s lucky he’ll get to wear them again around Zayn.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://www.alnimawrites.tumblr.com) if you want to yell at me about this or anything :).


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